Chapter 9: Confronting the Past - Part 2

Previously...

"Listen, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"You're…you've been so different today. I mean compared to when we spoke on the phone last night. And when I left the loft—" she shrugs one-shouldered, glancing sideways at him. "Look, I'm not letting this go. I don't mean that. But things between us looked pretty bleak yesterday."

"I don't hear a question in there."

"I would just like to know what's changed since last night. Also, who was your 'phone a friend'?"

Castle laughs, the tension leaving his face. "That's two questions."

"Okay, Sherlock. But I'm betting the answer to my first question is tied to the second. So…come on. Indulge me?" she requests, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

A good bottle of Barolo, two steaks au poivre from Creekstone Farm - complete with hand cut pommes frites - and a shared side dish of baby spinach later, and Kate still doesn't have the answers she's looking for. They've talked for sure – about her job and the current open case they're working, about Alexis, though this is a slightly touchy subject where Kate is concerned, and they've talked about the restaurant, which keeps inserting itself into the conversation no matter how hard they try to ignore the other diners around them.

When a young woman begins making the perilous climb up the old, wobbly wrought iron, spiral staircase to use the bathroom in the clandestine loft above, where a sign informs patrons that the house fortune teller is in residence, Kate shakes her head and laughs.

"What?"

The girl's short skirt affords the leering men at the end of the bar a great view of her underwear the higher she climbs, a fact Kate is certain the girl is already away of, if her slow, deliberate ascent is anything to go by.

"That," says Kate, tipping her head in the direction of the staircase and the rapidly disappearing pair of long legs. "I doubt it's even up to code anymore."

"Maybe. But it's always been there," argues Castle.

"Doesn't make it a good thing. I'm…I'm not such a big fan of the status quo anymore," she adds, in a thinly veiled reference to their own situation.

"So I hear," murmurs Castle, hiding a smile in his glass of wine.

Kate sips her own wine for a second or two, and then she takes the plunge.

"If you aren't going to answer my questions, at least give me a clue. What you were doing today?" she asks, the rich red making her feel loose and relaxed, maybe even a little bold, since she'd never normally force him to tell her where he was or what he was doing. Tonight just seems different somehow. "Or do I have to go up those stairs myself and ask the fortune teller to find out?" she adds, as a cheeky afterthought.

Castle barks a laugh of surprise. "Your detective instincts not giving you anything?" he teases, dragging a skinny fry through the small white ramekin of Ketchup sitting between them on the table, and popping it into his mouth.

Kate turns to stare at him, pausing with a piece of steak skewered on her fork hovering halfway to her lips. "Castle," she admonishes, her eyes widening indignantly. "Spill!" she commands, giving him a nudge in the ribs.

Castle takes a slow, considered sip from his wine glass, pausing to savor the round, chocolaty aroma of the wine, and then he carefully places the glass back on the table.

"Well?" probes Kate, her voice gentle, her tone lightened by curious humor as she chews on a mouthful of steak.

Castle blows out a long, slow breath before answering. "Writing. I was writing," he confesses with a shrug, dabbing his mouth with a linen napkin.

Kate frowns. "You were writing? But I…I don't—"

Castle dumps his napkin in a heap on top of his plate and slumps back against the leather banquet. "Three months. Last night ended a dry spell that lasted three months. That's the longest I've gone without writing since we met."

"Oh."

Castle nods thoughtfully.

"But—" Kate murmurs, her mouth suddenly dry. She frowns, her brow knitting together as she tries to get her head around what Castle's just told her.

"You wrote…nothing? The whole time...twelve weeks, you're telling me you wrote nothing?"

Castle nods, eyes downcast, toying with the hem of the tablecloth.

Guilt spreads through her chest like a winter chill, and she closes her eyes momentarily, until a young woman near the bar screams with hilarity and her cop instincts make them fly open again.

"But…what about Gina? And Paula? Aren't you contracted to deliver more Nikki Heat novels?"

"That's why I missed picking you up from the Precinct tonight. I called a meeting at Black Pawn, gave them a couple of chapters to get them off my back."

A quiet moment passes in which neither of them speaks. The hubbub of the restaurant carries on unabated, oblivious to their small, personal drama.

"Right," Kate nods thoughtfully, taking her time to absorb the new information she's just learned. But she's struggling to process. "So…you really wrote nothing for three whole months? But, Castle, writing is your life."

"Didn't matter. After you were shot I had nothing left to say."

"Nothing? But how could you have nothing to say? You've done a ton of research over the years you've been working with us."

"Okay, I had nothing important to say. Nothing…real."

"I…I don't—"

"Kate, you'd just been shot right in front of me. In front of my daughter, my mother, our friends, your dead Captain…"

"Castle—"

"No, Kate. An experience like that…it kind of messes with your creativity. After the trauma of the shooting and…and what followed. I couldn't get the images out of my head. I couldn't sleep at night. And later, once I knew you were going to be okay, there was the case." Castle shrugs. "I had no time to write, even if I'd had the urge."

"The case?"

"Yes. Your case. I was at the Precinct everyday with the guys. Well, until Gates arrived and threw me out."

"And? Surely you had time to write then."

"And? And? I had nothing important to say. Not after witnessing...everything. I…I write fairytales compared to what happened at Roy's funeral. I make things up, Kate. None of what I do is important. I realized that pretty quickly. When you're confronted by a real life and death situation like the one we faced that day. That's when you know."

"Know what?"

"How wasteful your life is. How insignificant your efforts, your contribution."

Kate purses her lips and closes her eyes before carefully folding up her own napkin and placing it back on the table. "Are we done here?" she asks quietly, without any hint of emotion.

Castle looks alarmed.

Kate shakes her head to indicate that he's misunderstood her. "I mean are you finished eating?"

Castle stares down at the large, white oval plate stained with the juices of his steak. "Uh…yeah, I guess. You want coffee, dessert or something?"

"Would you mind if we just get the check?"

"Sure." Castle frowns. "Hey, is everything okay? I'm…I'm not mad at you or anything. Not anymore."

Kate drops her hand onto Castle's forearm, which is resting on top of the tablecloth. "I know. I just…I need to talk to you and it's— Well, it's loud in here and—" Kate leans in closer to whisper in her partner's ear, her fingers still curled around the sleeve of his shirt. "Our neighbors are kind of eavesdropping."

"Oh," nods Castle, sitting up straighter, giving her a gentle smile. "Gotcha."

He raises his hand as Frankie, their tall, Italian-American waiter, goes sailing past with a huge platter of seafood balanced at shoulder height. A wire stand dangles from the fingers of his other hand.

"We'll take the check when you get a second, Frankie," Castle signals, getting a smile and a nod of understanding in return.

They'll take a walk, maybe go back to his place. Either way, they will sort this mess out once and for all.

TBC...

A/N: Happy New Year, guys. Wishing you everything you wish yourself in 2015. Hope it's a great year for everyone. Thank you for all your support over the last twelve months. xxx